True North
by Tars
Summary: Miss Pierce manages a home for orphaned children during 1850 in the Oregon territory.  Santana Lopez is a fugitive on the run who finds sanctuary on the edge of the Western frontier.   Their story is one of courage, redemption and eventually surrender.


**Title:** True North

**Summary**

Miss Pierce manages a home for orphaned children during 1850 in the Oregon territory.

Santana Lopez is a fugitive on the run who finds sanctuary on the edge of the Western frontier.

Their story is one of courage, redemption and eventually surrender.

**Prologue:**

**Mexico 1836**

"Señora de Jimenez," Juanita called as she ran up to Inez Martinez de Jimenez.

"El Presidente, San Jacinto," she gasped out of breath. "He is returning."

"So they released him after the campaign?" Señora Jimenez asked with a hitch in her voice.

"Sí," Juanita shrugged, wide-eyed.

"How long do we have?" Señora Jimenez asked, squinting into the sun as she glanced at Marcella and Santana playing with the cornhusk dolls Juanita and the servants had made for them. El Presidente did not believe in toys for his daughters, since he saw them as second-class citizens in comparison to the sons he desired.

" Two days, maybe three, according to the courier," Juanita confirmed, wringing her hands in her apron.

"Tell Lorenzo to prepare the horses by sun down; we will leave tonight," the Señora confirmed with a subdued tone.

"Sí_, _Señora. And the girls?" she gestured.

"I will speak to them," Señora Jimenez confirmed as she set her jaw and raised her eyes to the sky.

"And, Juanita?" Señora Jimenez called after the retreating woman.

"Sí?" Juanita turned.

"No one must know," the Señora whispered.

"Sí, Señora," Juanita ducked her head, responding before she retreated further into the mansion.

Señora Jimenez sighed restlessly, watching the girls play with carefree laughter in the courtyard lined with tiles and surrounded by Abiu trees placed in clay large planters.

Just after moonrise, Juanita gently shook Santana awake.

"Mama?" Santana asked, the 10-year-old girl rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"She's with Marcella, Mija," Juanita whispered while stroking the girl's back.

The servant leaned out of the moonlight to shield her watery eyes from the girl's bleary gaze.

"Come," she whispered affectionately as she rose to pick up Santana's boots. Santana followed, shouldering a small rucksack. Juanita reflected gratefully about her choice to dress Santana in her riding clothes after her nightly bath before bed as she gently clasped Santana's hand and led her down the corridor.

On tiptoed feet Juanita and Santana moved down the marble staircase to the stables. Juanita was careful not to allow their movements to wake any of the other servants. Most of the household carried a fierce loyalty to the self-proclaimed dictator of Mexico, Lopez de Santa Ana.

When they arrived at the stables, they saw Lorenzo carrying a blurry-eyed Marcella.

"But why, Mama?" asked sleepy the little girl who was just turned 5.

Juanita stared wide-eyed at the Señora.

"She is too young, yet," the Señora whispered when she saw Juanita's reaction.

Lorenzo gently set Marcella on a bale of hay and went to checking each horse's girth.

Pablo, a young groom, shielded a small candle and talked calmly the pawing ponies. The boy was Lorenzo's nephew and one of the very few in the Lopez de Santa Anna household who could be trusted to keep their confidence. Pablo and Lorenzo would lead the horses out to the barrio of La Romerita before they mounted up to escort Senora Lopez and her daughters to the safety of the Northlands.

Antonio Lopez de Santa Ana was the self proclaimed President and Dictator of Mexico. He led several campaigns against the growing territory of Texas as Texas lobbied for independence from Mexico.

Although his wife and daughters lived a life of material privileges, their life was almost like a prison, when encircled by Santa Ana's rage and lascivious living.

**Oregon Territory 1838**

"Go-bye," Figgins called to his sheepdog, Trailer. The spotted sheep dog loped smoothly around the cattle in a clockwise direction. The cattle, sensing the dog's approach, started to moo in mild irritation as the dog nipped at their heels and they circled up and moved towards Noah riding lead. A good sheepdog could compensate for the lack of cattle hands Figgins could not afford to pay. The rancher clucked to his strawberry mare, Bess, and guided her to the left to drive a stray cow closer to the herd.

He looked over to Sam on the bay mare and squinted to see Noah up ahead on the dark roan he loaned them. Figgins counted himself lucky that the two hands who remained were hardworking and trustworthy.

Sam as if hearing his thoughts sent Figgins a lazy smile and bent the brim of his hat with a nod. Then the cowhand clicked and turned to the herd as he rode drag to move any stragglers along. Finn rode on point, so that Figgins and Trailer could work in unison riding flank. Most ranchers would not think to demote themselves to any position but point; however, Trailer was not as responsive with Noah or Sam.

The rancher clucked again to Bess as he leaned back over her withers when she came to a gentle slope. He squinted in the sun as he noticed Trailer barking. "Come!" he called to the dog. "Trailer, come!" He called again when the dog didn't return.

He whistled to Sam, who acknowledged Figgin's instructions with a nod and moved to ride flank while the rancher went to retrieve Trailer. With a slight shift in his weight, he guided the mare back towards Trailer's barking. Figgins decided to loosen the catch on his gun holster; the last thing he needed was a scuffle with a mountain lion to wound his prized sheepdog. Trailer was too valuable.

When Figgins approached, he saw a dark form huddled and wavering beneath a rock outcropping.

He cocked his gun and fired two times in the air, hoping to scare the beast away. As he squinted, he noticed that the figure did not run off, but only shrank further into the shadow of the rocky overhang.

_That's no mountain lion,_ he thought as he dismounted and loosely tied Bess's reigns to a stubby oak.

"Please don't shoot me," a small voice whimpered as he drew closer. Once Figgins crawled under the shadow of the rock, he noticed the voice belonged to a young girl around 10 years of age. It was clear she was taken with fever as her blonde head lolled over one shoulder. "What is your name?" he asked softly, kneeling not far from her frail form.

"Brittany," the girl replied weakly.

"Where is your family?" he asked.

"Gone… _all_ gone…" Brittany whispered faintly.

"Come, Trailer," Figgins sighed. The dog whined and licked his hand.

Figgins patted his head. "Yes, good dog," he responded.

Figgins retrieved his canteen and coaxed the girl to take a few swallows of water before he untied Bess. He brought the horse over, and with a heave, propped the girl against the saddle horn before he mounted behind her. The girl needed care, and he couldn't leave her. He nudged Bess forward, hoping to catch Sam.


End file.
